Perfect Little Poptart
by princesserinla
Summary: Dean has never tasted something so good before in his life.


It was one of the best things that Dean had ever tasted, second only the faraway memory of his mother's home baked apple pie from a nearly forgotten childhood.

The medley of artificial chocolate and marshmallow melted together and wrapped warm and cozy in a crumbling graham cracker crust was divine.

He briefly entertained the idea that he might die another hundred times over again just for a chance to have more of this.

Sam's laughter sounded sort of far away and Dean wasn't sure if it was because he was so engrossed in the taste of his poptart or because of the haze clouding his mind at that moment, but it wasn't worth worrying about.

That poptart was just so good.

"I can't believe this motel even had a toaster." Sam chuckled, and Dean's eyes widened in agreement.

"I know, right?" He spoke through a mouth full of food, crumbs falling onto his lap, which only drew more laughter out of Sam.

For a brief moment Dean had thought that Sam was going to be pretty damn pissed when he stepped into the slightly hazy motel room with a small bag of food from the corner store.

They were, after all, supposed to be working on a case and if anything could be considered slacking off, Dean's current form of recreation probably topped the cake.

Or pie.

Not cake, never cake.

And _damn _did pie ever sound good at the moment.

Wait, he was getting off track.

Sam.

Sam getting back with food.

Right, Sam hadn't been angry like Dean thought he was going to.

He laughed, in fact, and Dean had a suspicion that Sam was purposely giving Dean a break that night. Things had been rough lately.

Dean, of course, was always one willing to share and offered Sam a hit or two, but his brother declined.

Though if Sam was going to try to pretend that he had never engaged in a few illicit activities at Stanford, he was full of so much shit.

Dean reached down for more poptart and found with a desperate whine that he head already eaten both of the pastries that Sam had so miraculously walked in with only ten minutes ago.

Or had it been twenty minutes?

Dean had no fucking idea.

"Dude…you alright?" Sam asked and Dean stared at him, Sam's face trying and failing to hold back how much he was dying to laugh at Dean.

"No, Sam, I'm not okay. The poptarts are gone, I don't even remember eating them so fast, but they were so good…so friggin' good…"

"Right, well…" Sam moved to the kitchenette that their room had built in and dug into the plastic shopping bag he had returned with. "I was going to wait to tell you I bought this, but if your munchies are that bad…"

He turned around with a warm and familiar grin, holding out a store bought apple pie, encased in a plastic container and basically fucking _glowing _in Sam's palms.

"Fuck, Sammy…" Dean stammered in awe, his green eyes widening as though he had never seen anything so beautiful and enticing in his entire life. Whether it was Sam or the pie that had enticed him he wasn't sure, but they were both there so it didn't really matter.

Dean ate the entire pie.

By the time he had finished his high had mostly dissipated to a dull numbness in his legs, though that too was beginning to fade.

His stomach was pleasantly full, and while the motel bed was anything but comfortable (the springs stabbed into his back and side every time he moved), Sam's body lying against his was as warm and comforting as any poptart or apple pie, high or not.

Dean wasn't as tired as he thought he was going to be and Sam seemed to sense this, speaking before Dean had a chance to.

"Finally make it back to Earth?"

Dean scoffed, trying to keep his voice nonchalant as though he hadn't spent the last half an hour stuffing his face in an embarrassingly sloppy and slightly desperate manner. "You're just pissed that you were too busy being a pussy to join in."

"I'm not…" Sam began but decided to leave it at that, shaking his head with a smile. "I don't think I've ever seen you with such a bad case of the munchies. I thought you'd let that pie last at least longer than an hour."

Dean shrugged as a smirk crawled over his features, sitting up in the bed to look down at Sam, his eyebrows raised to form an expression that he knew Sam could read all too well.

"Yeah, well, I think I might still be feelin' a bit of the munchies, but not for pie _or _poptarts this time."


End file.
